The Dreamer of Love
by Charlemagne
Summary: A short tale about a writer who becomes too intimately acquainted with his fiction


The Dreamer of Love  
Disclaimer: The setting of Dragonlance belongs to the wonderful folks at   
TSR now owned by WotC now owned by Hasbro. Otherwise completely  
original.   
  
  
"Milo!" the shrill voice echoed up from the depths of the Solace tree.  
"Coming mother!" Milo continued writing the beautiful words upon the  
page that seemed to flow from a source that the young would-be scribe dared  
hope might be divine.  
"Milo! Get down here and carry out the refuse!" the voice echoed higher  
and the man sighed dotting the last bit of his latest tale down with all the  
speed he could muster.  
Milowyn Starreach was a young man reaching the age of sixteen in his  
hamlet and despite growing up in the War of the Lance he had more or less  
completely managed to miss everything exciting that had ever happened. Even  
when the village was burned to the ground he had been too young to remember  
the worst hardships and on some level that offended him let alone the worst  
acts of the Theocrat. A gawking awkward youth Milowyn was not  
unhandsome but didn't turn any eyes in the village for more than a few  
seconds because of his well known relentlessly bookish nature. His father  
before dying in a horse riding accident had been a sage from Palanthas and  
left the family with enough tomes Milowyn never had to trouble himself to  
socialize to keep his mind busy.  
"Stupid young dreamer!" the heavy hand of Millicent Starreach slapped  
down on Milowyn's back neck even as he reached the bottom of the stairs to  
carry out her wishes. Millicent was a heavy set woman who'd lived through  
the worst aspects of the War of the Lance that her son had avoided and  
considered him soft for the lifestyle he chose. "Always up there with your  
quill and pen when you should be helping me. If it weren't for my sewing  
right now we'd be starved on the streets and you aren't helping with your  
constant needs for ink and paper that aren't going to win you any steel for  
us to eat with."  
It was a similar berate that Milowyn had heard for most of his  
"adult" life. In a town like Solace there was little need for a  
professional scholar and Milowyn had neither the money nor skills to figure  
out how to make the road to a city like Sanctuary or Palanthas where he  
could put such skills as reading and writing to good use. The situation  
truly wasn't as bad as she said because even if it was boring and droll work  
Milowyn paid for himself by keeping the books for men not quite so learned  
as he.  
"I understand now Mother and can appreciate your sentiments but....ow."  
Milowyn was cut off by another slap to the back of the scalp before he was  
directed to the garbage piles from the previous week's meals.  
Milowyn, dutiful as ever, lifted up the barrels ones by one and carried  
them down towards the bottom of the tree to be carted off in the morning by  
the Garbage wheeler who'd take it by the lake. It was filthy disgusting  
work but someone had to do it. Setting down the barrels Milowyn gazed up  
into the sky and saw the constellation of the God of Neutrality and Scholars  
Gilean in the sky.  
"Gentle Gilean looking over all who put the quill to paper I ask of you  
this request. Please let it be that I might do at least one thing great with  
my writings before I die." Milowyn was not a religious man by nature but he  
swore that he saw something twinkle in the Book God's stars somehow.  
"Wait I have it!" Milowyn snapped his fingers and ran up the stairs as  
fast as he could towards his papers. The idea was crystal clear and  
beautiful in his mind like a warm sunrise that had to be brought low into  
verse.  
  
The days past in a fevered pace for Milo's writing became an all  
consuming obsession where once they were merely his passion. Food remained  
uneaten at his side and he subsisted on liquids that merely were laid to one  
side of the artist. His mother Millicent could only watch in shock the  
change which grew over her son and the obsession that drove beyond his eyes.  
Moaz.  
The name was a word upon his tongue that he could only enunciate  
hungrily. It was the name of a character, a imaginary entity who did not  
exist, but whom the pen described the travels and character of perfectly.  
Works of fiction were rare in Ansalom and always the writings were to be  
used as parables or teaching methods for the mind of the common man and  
scholar but never could they be produced for simple enjoyment. The paper  
could hold any number of embellishments from an author on established  
historical figures to the point that they barely resembled reality at all  
but to disregard all of the world was to merely be laughed at.  
Moaz reached beyond that.  
Hers was a tale set in the space before the War of the Lance and ending  
just before it's completion. A young elven woman of the Silvastani who  
sought the secrets of the gods when they're was absolutely no trace of them  
left. Moaz was everything Milo imagined woman could be to a man. In loving  
detail Milowyn described her features, her attitudes, her belief, and  
travels well beyond even his own knowledge of the lands and things Krynn.  
It was nearing the darkest point of the night of the twelfth night when the  
story had it's ending penned.  
"Gifted with the medallion of Gilean, Moaz held it fast to her breast  
and brought her mace low upon the Draconians and slew many before she was  
overwhelmed."  
The ending made Milowyn sick to his stomach with it's banality. That a  
character so rich and wondrous as Moaz would die so senselessly and  
hideously at the hands of the reptilian monsters when by all rights she  
should have been immortal in this world and the next galled him on a deeply  
personal level. Try as he might however Milowyn could not lift his pen up  
to change the ending of the tale however. The words had flown as life would  
have flown had the elf woman been real and to alter this work of art was to  
do a disservice to the tapestry he had woven. Tired and alone with his  
mother fast asleep below him Milo set his head upon the paper and fell to  
sleep with tears in his eyes for the dream woman.  
  
"Milowyn." the voice which awoke him was not his mothers but soft and  
cool like a icy brook running down a mountain in the spring. Milo had  
forgotten to pinched the wick of his candle and was surprised to find that  
it was almost burned down beside him, providing only a little light.  
Refocusing his eyes, Milowyn was surprised to find the lovely form that  
stood before him so regally. Only gradually did it dawn on him that she was  
everything he had wrote about in his story so perfectly yet now somehow even  
more beautiful.  
"This is a dream." Milowyn said with some disappointment.  
"Yes but a dream that is real." Moaz said walking forward to the young  
man and peering into his eyes. Her eyes were like an ocean that the scholar  
could peer into and he was ashamed that his own blue eyes were so drab and  
colorless next to them.  
"I wrote of you as best I could milady." Milowyn explained before he  
gestured to the words on paper beside him, nearly knocking over an ink well  
that would have destroyed them.  
"I know and you fulfilled your task for Gilean well Milo." Moaz gave a  
very weak smile.  
"Gilean?" Milo Starreach was very confused.  
"As rich as your imagination is Milo, I am not a product of it. Long  
ago I abandoned my people for the greater duty of service to my God but all  
my hopes and dreams went unrecorded in this life as I battled the evils of  
the Dark Queen. It was to my shame that no one would write of my life and  
why I chose the path I did because I was cut down so early in my world. You  
have fulfilled all my expectations Milo and detailed me perfectly that I  
might go peacefully onto my rest." Moaz's words were soothing and hearing  
them Milowyn knew she spoke the truth.  
"I love you lady." Milo said from the deepest part of his heart.  
"This I know as well Milo and say to you that Gilean had more intended  
for us than the mere recording of his words. You have fulfilled your place  
in his book and I invite you to read on with me in his library forever."  
Moaz took Milo by the hand as he rose and followed into the light.  
  
The next day Millicent Starreach found her young son dead amongst his  
papers. The cause of death was unknown but the Scholars of Palanthas who  
were coming to investigate reports of a possible recruit for their order  
ascribed it to a weak heart that might have been inherited from his father  
before taking his writings for filing.  
  
The End  
  
-Charlemagne  
tcp@zoomnet.net mailto:tcp@zoomnet.net  
  
  



End file.
